Wednesday, August 31, 2011

B-day or why I cried when I found out Beyonce was pregnant

September 4th, 2005 Reno, Nevada. Caitlin and I arrive to the DC3 (Destiny's Child) concert early. We do a lap around the venue, no tour busses. We enter the Silver Legacy and down a couple of Shirley Temples even though we are both now 21. We discuss possible places for Beyonce's B-day party later, (it is her bday) then decide to take a lap on foot around the venue. We see a group of suspected DC3 fans across the street. We approach. They tell us Kelly, Michelle, and Miss Tina have already come off the bus. That leaves just one person left: Queen B. We wait, not too long and she disembarks. I want to run close to her but I'm scared. I scream "Happy Birthday BEYONCE!" She waves to me and walks her weave away. I'm pumped. I want to jump into a prop waterfall in jeans and a white tank and sing "Lose My Breath." I want to steal Michelle's solo in Survivor but instead, I walk out during her set for a pee pee break. No one holds a candle to the Queen. After the concert Caitlin and I scour the Reno National Bowling Stadium in hopes of crashing the diva's party. No such luck.

Flashback: I'm in 8th grade and in "computer" class. My teacher is a trekkie who cares more about Spock than his students. He lets us use the computers which are wired to the internet. Yahoo? What is that? I don't know but I soon learn from Yahoo all the lyrics to No, No, No, remix and the names of the group members. Beyonce? The prettiest girl I've ever seen. She is so fierce. I'm so furry. Why does my mom insist on Nair? I need a razor and some pleather pants. An accent mark in my name wouldn't hurt either.

Fast forward to 2001- My junior year of high school. Our dance teacher has sent us to the vice principal's office for his blessing on choreographing a dance to "Bootylicious." We present him with the printed out lyrics. He doesn't approve. I give him the ole female empowerment shpeel. He doesn't budge. I contemplate saying something about his daughter puking in the girl's bathroom trash can at Sadie Hawkins but, like Beyonce, I have too much dignity. We walk out of his office and I feel yucky. Like the Mexican girl who has an inclination towards urban culture. I go to the nearest D.E.M.O. and buy myself some Baby Phat earrings to ease the pain. I just wanted to dance.

Beyonce, shot by me, myself, and I.

August 30th, 2007- Beyonce is a solo act now and we're going to see her in Lake Tahoe, CA. We have seats in the 13th row and are pumped about that. For the occasion I choose a sequin Dream Girls number  I purchased at the Goodwill for 6 dollars. I make Caitlin give me an up-do in the parking lot. True friend. I soon discover not everyone is dressing in character. I don't care. We make our way to our seats and see some people sitting in them. They show us their tickets, identical to ours. Ticketmaster make a boo boo. We confront security about the mix-up. They seat us in the front row and tell us they will take care of us. The lights go out and we scream. There we stay the entire show. Front freaking row with my freekum dress on.  Every woman got one. We are so close we can see the sweat drenching her weave, the nets on her fishnets, I don't think we were ready for this jelly, she is just as beautylicious up close. We sing, we scream. She sings happy birthday at the end, my birthday is at midnight. I'm 23 and can drive off the mountain on the way home and die happily. I make it home. I tell my dad she sang happy birthday but I don't think she noticed me. My dad looks at my dress and says, "Oh, I'm sure she noticed you."

The back of my dress and impromptu up-do.

Caitlin and I after the concert showing how close we were. Caitlin and Beyonce are now both pregnant with their first child. 

B-lieve it. Beyonce from the front row.

"You must not know bout me lalalalala"

September 2008- I'm living in Mexico and have become an official Beyonce ambassador. I make every Mexican that enters my home watch my Beyonce DVD with me or "Beyonc" as they pronounce it. I have the concert and her video collection. And then...Single Ladies drops. I go to the internet cafe and pay 11 pesos and hr to watch the video over and over. I download the album on itunes hijacking the internet from my classroom at the elementary school I teach at. I head up to my studio apartment in the hills and have a solo album listening party of I Am...Sasha Fierce. My friend Megan comes up to my appt with her male roommate, Chino, to watch the Single Ladies video which also downloaded with the album. He is impressed. They leave and I have an epiphany that all my favorite people are from Texas: Megan, Beyonce, and Selena. I lay on my pillow and I smell weed. I discover an ABS (already been smoked) joint behind my bed. Chino estuvo aqui. 

August 28th, 2011- I still love Beyonce but we are like old Facebook friends now. I would tell her Happy B-day, maybe make some fake plans on her wall about how we should get together, but I don't follow her daily routine. Maybe I still feel snubbed over not getting a wedding invitation. Whatever, I couldn't go anyways, I was out of the country. She still is an amazing performer to me, but she's just too private of an artist. I'm tired of hearing the same things over and over in every interview she gives. She was on Star Search, she loves her daddy, babies in due time. I still download her latest album, but don't have strong feelings about it or her overt sampling of Major Lazer. I see her perform at the VMAS's. I miss the pre-show. I see her sing the shit out of "Love On Top" and glow like the sequins on her Dolce and Gabbana blazer. When she drops the mic at the end I await the usual: stripping down into some sequin adorned booty shorts. But no! A baby Beyonce bump? She rubs her stomach and smiles. I bring my hand to my mouth and break into tears. I'm so happy for her. I still care.  The way she shared it with the world, so precious. My boyfriend does nothing. I run outside to text Caitlin the news.  My parents walk into the house and I tell my dad the news. "Beyonce is pregnant!" He answers," With what? A Jay-Z? A Dr. Dre? A Kanye?" I tell my mom, and how I cried. She tries to explain it to my boyfriend, "I once cried about something on TV. It was this little monkey on the news, and every day they showed the monkey and how we has doing. He was extinct? or what do they call it? Yeah, there you go, an endangered species. And then the monkey died and I cried, I was so sad." My boyfriend and I looked at one another blankly. I don't know how to explain why I cried when I found out but I hope I just did. 

Happy B-day to me,

Thursday, August 18, 2011

A rude awakening

So the other day I received an email response to my cupcake post. It was from none other than my niece. It read:

Ummm not digging the look. its a cross between an emo cleopatra and a vampire. not sippin the haterade!

I texted her about the ordeal and told her maybe it was the lipstick, that paired with my ripped jeans, cheetah shoes, and black shirt was too much.

Yeah, I think that was it, she agreed and added that she hoped I wasnt offended.

Oh course I wasn't, I had to laugh. I too thought the look was a little too harsh and a little too dark especially juxtaposed with the sweet cupcake with lavender frosting. I looked like a former vampire, discovering day light. no bueno. note taken, stick to red lips.

And then this Tuesday my boyfriend asked me if I wanted to go see a 5 dollar movie.  We had 50 minutes on the clock before we had to leave the house. Perfect, enough for me to take a half shower (no hair washing), get dressed, and put on makeup. "Guess what shirt I'm going to wear?" I asked my boyfriend. I was amazed when he picked out the exact shirt I was thinking of, a white long sleeved shirt with sheer sleeves and a chelsea collar adorned with a little pilgrim doily action. I had purchased it a few days prior for 99 cents. My vision was to wear it with a pair of simple black shorts and be done. But after having to call for assistance from my boyfriend as I tried to pull the shorts I used to wear 14 lbs ago over my curvy thighs, I had to go to plan B: cut myself a new pair of black shorts from some larger black Jordache pants I had thrifted. So there I was on my knees in my underwear armed with my Gingher scissors doing some last minute alterations on the carpeted floor of my bedroom.

"There how does it look?" I asked my boyfriend.


"How about if I tuck in the shirt?"

"I dont think it's meant to be tucked in."

"How do you know?"

"By the length, it's too short."

And then I began stuffing it into my freshly cut shorts.

"Ok, how about now?"

"Um, it looks kinda.."

"How about if I add a belt?"

I reached into my belt box and pulled out a red skinny belt, and had him help me pull it through the loops. There was nothing left to do but put on my most uncomfortable pair of 20 dollar Charlotte Russe shoes and hit the road.

"Don't complain to me that your feet hurt," he warned me.

"Really, how are my feet going to hurt if we're just walking in and out of the movies?"

When we went in, the ticket taker complimented my blouse, but even I felt silly hiking the stairs to the top row in my red fuade (fake suade) platform heels in a theatre packed with teenagers.

After the movie was over we walked out and I said, "I look like George Washington."

George Washington if he were a trannie selling himself on the streets of downtown Guadalajara.

"I don't know why you got so dressed up, it was just the movies," my boyfriend said.

"Well why not? What was I supposed to do? Go in my pajamas?" I was excited about venturing outside of the house on a "date" with my boyfriend. I wasn't about to wear shape-ups, a t-shirt, and capris. But deep down, despite all my self defense, I did feel a bit silly. How did my style escalate so out of control that night? Who was to blame for whoring up ole George?

Myself. I was not being true to myself. Personal style blogs are supposed to be about personal style, not anyone else's. Why did I feel the need to go above and beyond with my outfits when I left the house? I want to set myself apart from the mainstream retail shopping of America but I had been crossing some lines. There is a time and place for every ensemble and I had made a mistake. Style is about taking risks, but when your own family sees through you, you are more transparent than the chiffon layer of my palazzo pants.

No more monkey business,

Get it, transparent, chiffon?

Did anyone actually read the text?

My friend made me laugh. Sike. It was just me and my tripod.

top- thrifted a dollar something
pants- vintage $11 dollars (I know, big spend.)
shoes- Guess, no really, Guess.

Monday, August 15, 2011


WANTED: Bag lady with brown feet

CHARGED WITH: Trespassing in my backyard, wearing a long dress at 5 feet tall and flats, and using Spanx as an impromptu slip (not first offense). 

LAST SEEN WEARING: Vintage dress, although we're not sure if it's an old night gown.

ALSO SPOTTED At: Taco Bell, roadside- picking berries, and at Zumba dancing cumbia. 

ADDICTED TO: coffee, fleatail shopping, and blogger.

OTHER HOBBIES INCLUDE: Playing dress up and laughing at her own damn jokes.

Her bag, likely to carry mace and M.A.C. 

No permanent markings, just accessories that might as well be permanent as she wears them all the f-ing time.

Also likes to digitally alter pictures of nature. Please, let's get her off the streets.

If you or anyone you know have information regarding "bag lady" please leave a comment below, Thank you and have a nice Monday,


Friday, August 12, 2011

Oh My Vlog (OMV)

My first Vlog. yuck. I know these can be creepy and annoying esp. if people talk about nothing or slowly but here I am showing you what I got last Sunday at the swap meet. Oh yes, I also show you one of my crafts, the thing I'm wearing in my hair. I tried not to talk too much but I had a lot of stuff. I don't know, let me know p.s. I have a heart p.p.s. Ima robot

It ain't no fun if the homies cant have none,

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Oh brother, not another cupcake post

Oh gawd, not another cupcake post. Why do people feel so compelled to showcase this dessert on the internet? I promised myself I'd never do it but sometimes you just have to go where the wind takes you...or your pregnant friend who is driving you.

shirt- brAss Plum
jeans- thrifted 99 cent day and cut
shoes- J.C. even though I didn't realize they were for 2 years.
cupcake- earl grey tea with lavender frosting

Ugh, so cliche. So you know we had to mix it up...

During the 2nd trimester, areolae sweeten. One a cream cheese flavor, the other, German chocolate. California girls, they're unforgettable.

Caitlin kindly offered to share one with me, but I told her she could share one with her unborn child. 

Why were we in black? That is the uniform for the salon she works at. I was a hair model trying out a new keratin treatment. I sat there as strangers touched my hair singing, "I feel pretty, oh so pretty," pitying, any girl that wasn't me today. Special thanks to Caitlin for doing my hair and directing this shoot. She is very good with concepts. 

Happy hump day,

Monday, August 8, 2011

You might be a thrifter if...

1. You use the word thrift as every part of speech.

adj: this shirt was thrifted.
noun: I'm a thrifter.
verb: I thrifted this shirt. 

The thrifty thrifter thrifted a purse in a thrift shop. 

2. You wear shirts as skirts and skirts as shirts. 

3. You cross dress. This can be with a lover, or often with members of your own family. Scenario is usually one sided, you wear their clothes but they don't wear yours. Also, a covert activity where clothes sneak in and out of their closet.

4. You thrift while on vacation. It is a must-do activity like collecting sea shells.

5. Diamonds scissors are a girls best friend.

6. Your motto: The older the woman, the flyer the wardrobe. 

7. The thought of wearing another's vintage bathing suit or leotard doesn't disgust you, it Thrills you.

8. Retail now gives you the "heebie jeebies."

9. You think pleats are neat, plaid is rad, and polyester is not bad. 

10. You wear tees of concerts you've never been to, schools you never heard of, places you've never been, and teams you could care less about. 

Aww complete vacation thrifting bliss. Take a pic of me so I can blog it please. 

photo by: Cierra Garcia
fotographer to the stars, or to me at least.

Are you a thrifter? Yes, I thought so,

Friday, August 5, 2011

Blackberry Cobbler

I love vintage dresses but I feel like I look like such a wuss in them. Or it could be the berry picking...

These berries are growing out of control and I'm so excited cause its like free fruit right in my backyard. What grows in your backyard? Don't tell me watermelons cause I'll be jealous.

"The blacker the berry, the sweeter the juice, the darker the flesh and the deeper the roots." Tupac Shakur. Wow, whatta poet.

Wow, what to do with all these berries? Make berry lemonade? Eat them raw? Naw, how about add all your favorite carbs (milk, sugar, flour) and bake them? Then make your boyfriend eat it as you make him watch Jersey Shore with you. 

Tupac cares, if don't nobody else care,

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

More birds

Broadcasting live from Home Depot.

Ugh. I've been to Home Depot too many times for my own comfort this year. What brought me in on this day was a collapsed closet rod? bar? I have too many clothes. This romper is not thrifted, its actually from my retail days when I was getting paid. Got it at Urban Outfitters for 9.99 2 years ago. My shoes are from a 2nd hand shop. 

So do you remember I had more beaded birds from that denim shirt? Well I went into my local bead store and added this strand to turn it into a necklace (with much help from the store owner).

I might put some more strands through him (red tail means male) later. As an asthmatic girl who is allergic to anything with fur, I could only have birds and fish growing up. 

Check out this guy. Im obsessed. He has more followers than you and I will ever have. He's done local news, Letterman, and a Taco Bell commercial. Best of all, his popularity and merchandise has generated donations to the Bird Lovers Only Rescue Service where he hails from. All hail Snowball. 


Monday, August 1, 2011

DIY- Cassette tape purse

When I was 9 years old my mom was in a car accident. After a routine tire alignment she got onto the freeway and 3 of her tires flew off. She rolled into a ditch and crawled out the window. Fortunately, she survived. Unfortunately, her Gloria Estefan tape did as well. 

She had every Gloria Estefan tape that came out. And I listened to them constantly as she drove my furry 9 year old face around. It's not that I didn't like the music, it's just that you can only listen to Cuts Both Ways so many times before you start having "thoughts." 

So when I found this tutorial on youtube on making a cassette tape purse, I was instantly excited. Because I'm a fan of crafting using recycled materials "upcycling" and I knew I would get a reaction from my mom when she saw me digging through her tapes. 

Revenge is best served with a strong glue and sandpaper,

Sorry Selena but know that no one will ever take your place on my Ipod.

Had to saw some tapes because I made the purse 3x3 instead of 2x2. I dont like small purses. 

Yes, Im at Taco Bell. Yes, I'm overdressed. That's what happens when you live in a small town. I refrained from putting the pic of my lover boy eating a double decker. 

The tutorial I used.